barely legal | max verstappen ✓

chapter 5 | red bull doesn't give you wings

«I'm still a believer but I don't know why. I've never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try.»

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The picture was cute. Simple, but cute. It was just a shot of her drinking a can of a regular Red Bull — which she didn't even actually drink because, according to her, the drink tasted like shit — and the caption read Red Bull gives you wings. Okay, sue her for lack of originality. She was a model, not a marketing expert, and it was the kind of hinting Sloane always did.

Now the thing was, the more she stared at the post, she realised Red Bull didn't give her wings, nor a little bit of courage. On the contrary, she was pretty much feeling like she would throw her heart out of her mouth from how fast it was beating. Like it would rip off from her chest in one way or another. Her eyes were glued to the picture, heartbeat sounded loud and clear in her ears. It had been her idea to post that before going to the race, but as she chewed on her lip with more pressure than necessary, she was starting to believe she could've saved herself from that post. Vivianne had told her to please avoid checking the comments, which she was doing anyway, but the notifications were a bit nerve-racking in their own way.

She was so focused on herself, and the picture, that she didn't even notice someone had approached her and was standing next to her side of the table. When Sloane looked up from her phone, she found a woman giving her an apologetic smile. She was holding a wallet in her hand, whilst trying to balance a coffee cup and phone on the other. Sloane blinked at her, probably looking like a rabbit caught in the headlights, but all her new companion did was keep the same apologetical expression.

The stranger gestured with a nod at the seat across from her. "You don't mind if I take a seat here? All the other tables are busy." She looked around, and so did Sloane. She wasn't wrong, all the tables were full of people in groups. It was only her hoarding a whole table for herself. Race days were indeed very busy and full of people.

Returning the initial smile, and attempting to look polite and less panicky, Sloane nodded. "Sure, no problem." The woman looked relieved as she sat across from her, placing her wallet, coffee and phone on the table. If Sloane looked at her for a couple of seconds, she did seem somehow familiar.

"Thank you." The woman smiled and grabbed her phone.

The conversation ended there and Sloane went back to what she was doing. Staring at her phone and anxiously moving her leg as if she was waiting for death row. She tapped her foot on the ground and picked at her bottom lip, peeling some layers of skin from how much she was biting it. Her whole body was vibrating. One of her thumbs kept hovering over the option to view all comments. She wondered if someone had seen her there already, or not. Maybe she was being dramatic. She'd been too relaxed and careless about the whole situation up until now. Up until she actually had to show up there.

"Are you alright?" The sound of the voice coming from the other side of the table snapped her out of all her thoughts in a matter of seconds. The English accent of the same woman sitting across from her was a bit soothing and soft, sufficient not to startle her.

It was then that Sloane noticed the repeating bouncing of her leg had been shaking the entire table this whole time, therefore moving the coffee cup she had purchased from its place. There wasn't a mess or anything like that, but it was obvious. She felt the need to apologise immediately, because someone like her mother would've said she was bothering the other person with her actions and nobody liked that.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't realise I was moving the table too." She nervously scratched her arm. Nails leaving a red mark on her skin. God, she probably looked like one of those kids who always got yelled at.